Boomer

by K. L. Savage

  I take another deep breath, and the wind takes the opportunity to blow, cooling my heated face. This is home now. A new beginning. Maybe I’ll be better here, mentally. Maybe it was the MC that had me fucked up. I’ll be better now.

  Yeah, that’s the chant I said on repeat after blowing something up.

  Maybe it’s true. Maybe I will be better.

  “Damn, longest fucking light of my life. What the fuck?” I look right to see if anyone is coming, debating if I want to risk running the red light. My luck there’s a camera or some shit, and I’ll get my license plate in the system. They'll send the ticket to Reaper since that’s my home address, and then I’ll be screwed because he has no way to find me.

  I’ll sit and wait patiently.

  A car rolls up next to me, an old convertible Volkswagen bug. It’s light blue, a bit beat up, but the women in it sure are pretty.

  “Hi.” The driver giggles, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder while sucking on a blow pop. Seeing her tongue wrap around that candy should get me hard, but it doesn’t. Nothing is happening below the belt. “Where you off to, handsome?” she purrs, turning her head back to tell her friend something, and then the blonde is leaning over the window, her black triangle bikini barely covering her tits. “Want to come back with us? We’re only here for a night, and you look like you’d be a good time.”

  She has no idea what kind of man I am. Blondes usually aren’t my thing, probably because my sister is blonde. Every time I see one, my dick shrivels up because I think of her. I’m into redheads, they’re hot, but not like raven-haired beauties. Fuck, I love a woman with long dark hair, but I've never found one who really zapped me.

  If I meet the right girl, maybe I can get my cock up for her. Maybe she’ll be able to get through the bullshit in my head and let me feel human.

  “Thanks, ladies, but I got a long ride ahead.” Not really. I’m here. I just want to go the fuck to sleep.

  She pouts, sticking out her bottom lip that’s stained red from the sucker. “You do? We can give you a long ride. All three of us.”

  Too bad they’re all fucking blondes.

  “Sorry, ladies. Best of luck,” I say as the light turns green. I tilt my head in a kind gesture and hit the throttle, letting my dad’s Harley grumble in my wake. There are two things that sound right in this world: a loud bike and a woman screaming my name, and since I have one of those, I consider my life pretty fucking good.

  I zip down the highway, a seagal flying next to me for a moment before I speed up and leave it behind. I rest one hand on my thigh, cruising at a decent speed so I can take in the view. Lights of the casinos strobe in the early night. People are coming out for a good time, hoping they’ll hit it big at the casino.

  It feels good. Something feels right about this place. I’m not sure what. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s good, and I haven’t felt good in a while. I come to another stop before I see a hotel right on the beach. Looks a little run down, probably has no a/c since some of the windows are open, but who needs air conditioning when the breeze from the ocean is right there? A bike stops next to me, a man in a leather cut, and he bows his head.

  My heart pumps in my chest. No fucking way. When the light turns green, I let him pass by so I can get a good view of his cut. And right fucking there, it says Ruthless Kings, Jersey Chapter.

  You have got to be kidding me. How the hell did I forget that? My palms start to sweat; no, you know what? It’s fine. No one needs to know I’m here. My father was pretty well known through all the chapters, and his death was one that went down in history. If anyone finds out I’m here, they will roll out the red carpet, and I’m not trying to get involved in that.

  I’ll keep my distance and live my life away from them.

  He gets further into the distance, and I watch him vanish into a small speck until I can’t see him anymore. I want to make sure he doesn’t turn around. Fuck, maybe I should go to another place. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder every five minutes.

  When the sound of his bike is gone, I turn left and head toward that little motel I saw before I got sidetracked with Ruthless Kings. Damn shit, it’s going to follow me everywhere. I’m starting to wonder if it’s a sign.

  Gravel crunches under my tire when I pull into the parking lot of the ranch-style motel. It’s small, old, with a red neon Motel sign that says Vacancy. I come to a slow stop, park, and cut the engine. I groan as I slide off my helmet. My hair is matted and stuck to my head from the sweat. I can’t wait to get in that bathtub and relax. I run my fingers through my scalp and groan, then I turn my head left and right to pop my neck and nearly fall off my bike from how good it feels.

  “Fuck me,” I moan to the ground, taking a few deep breaths. My legs tingle from the blood flow rushing back to my weak feet when I stand. I take a few steps, stretch, and pop my back. I might be young, but damn it if I don’t feel old.

  I unhook my backpack from my bike and sling it over my shoulder. My boots crunch against the rocks, and I flick the flame of my lighter on and off, on and off. I love watching it light. The hedges around the motel are overgrown, the blue paint over the siding looks like it needs to be redone, and it’s filthy. A few windows are broken, but the view can’t be beat.

  The ocean is right there.

  The doorbell jingles when I open it, and just as I thought, the air is a bit sticky. The only thing recirculating it is an old fan that clicks with every spin above me. Other people wouldn’t find this place amazing, but I find it charming, a diamond in the rough.

  An old man comes to the window, clean silver hair combed back, dressed in corduroy pants and a white shirt. He does have a beer belly, telling me he loves having a few longnecks before bed. I can understand that.

  Me fucking too.

  “One room?” he says through the thick plastic between us which makes him sound muted.

  “Just the one,” I reply. “Do you rent out rooms for apartments?” Might as well shoot my shot. I’m looking for a cheap place, a roof over my head; I don’t care where.

  “I do,” he grumbles, wiping some crumbs off his mouth from the sandwich he just bit into. “It’s a hundred a week. Place is run down; it’s why I don’t charge more. I’m not as fit as I used to be, and I can’t fix half the shit wrong with this place. Take it or leave it,” he says simply, on a bit of a huff.

  “I’ll take it, and I’ll be glad to help. I can fix things up, and we can get this place looking good as new,” I offer, wanting to do something decent for someone else. I have to start making friends somewhere, right?

  “Really?” he asks. “What’s the catch? I don’t want no wild parties here. I see those tattoos on ya and that nose ring. You’re a wild one, aren’t ya? Oh, my Betsy would have loved you. God rest her soul; I don’t know why she married me when she loved the bad boys.”

  “Ah, we get old. We’re just temporary until a woman finds her true love,” I say with a smile.

  I thought he would laugh at my joke, but his eyes narrow at me, and his bottom jaw protrudes out further than his top, so when he frowns, he looks mean. “You listen here, there’s someone for everyone, tattoos or not. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, trying not to smile. “We have a deal?”

  He opens the door next to the window and steps out. He offers his hand to me. “We do. I’m Homer. Welcome to Oceanside Inn.”

  “Thank you. I’m Boomer. It’s good to be here.” I notice my slip as soon as I say it. I’m not Boomer anymore. I’m Jenkins, but I can’t let the nickname go. It fit. It’s the one thing that feels like me.

  I glance at my phone after releasing Homer’s hand and see that I have fifteen voicemails, a hundred texts, and dozens of missed calls. I know who they’re from.

  So I ignore them, put my phone away, and follow Homer to the room I’m going to rent. It’s time to press the reset button on my life.

  And it makes a pretty big boom, internally.
<
br />   2

  Scarlett

  I don’t know where I am.

  It’s cold. It’s dark. The ground is wet and hard, maybe cement? I know my wrists are bound, my ankles have something attached to them too, and by the rattle against the floor and the resistance when I move, I’m assuming shackles. I’m chained like a dog.

  My head swims. I’m drowsy. I can’t remember much. I lean back against the wall, and the rough concrete scratches against my shoulders. That’s when I notice I’m not wearing a shirt or pants. The ground is causing my flesh to be raw and sore. My panties are chaffing my inner thigh from all the moisture on the ground and in the air. I lean forward to try to explore my surroundings, but something around my neck stops me.

  “What?” I say to myself, reaching my hand to touch whatever is stopping me from going two feet in front of me. My hand comes in contact with something hard, thick, and it’s an attached to another chain.

  A collar.

  I am a dog.

  Tears burn my eyes from the horror I find myself in. I have no idea where I am. Who would do this to me? Why would someone do this? I’m confused, more than confused. I was on my way to my eight-a.m. class, and then I … I don’t remember.

  I pull on the collar, yanking it, and hot tears fall down my face at my weak attempt.

  “Don’t bother.”

  I scream from the sudden, unexpected voice coming from the shadows. It’s a woman. She sounds weak, like she’s been here for a while. Her voice is dry, rough like sandpaper, and it makes my skin crawl with fear.

  What’s happened to her … that will happen to me?

  “Hello? Who’s there? Who are you?” I ask her, my voice echoing off the acoustic of the walls.

  “Abigale.”

  “Abigale. I’m Scarlett. Do you know where we are? What’s happening?” My throat tightens under the collar as I swallow, trying to coat my dry mouth. I can’t be here. I’ve done everything right in my life. I’ve made good grades, dated good guys; I’ve only had sex once. I’m a good girl. I’ve done everything by the damn book. I don’t deserve this.

  “You don’t remember anything either, huh?” Abigale’s hoarse voice struggles to say. “You’ll remember. You’ll never forget this place or what these men will do to you. Welcome to the clubhouse of the Ruthless Kings. Where they are truly ruthless in what they do.”

  “What are you talking about? Who are the Ruthless Kings?” I question her. “Have there been others? How long have you been down here?”

  “Few months, I think. I don’t really know anymore. You lose track of time down here.”

  “A few … what?” My voice gets pitchy with panic, and a million terrible scenarios play in my head. “Abigale, please tell me what’s going to happen. Please,” I beg through hysterical tears, fear, the hopelessness I feel.

  Her sigh is loud and full of exhaustion, not annoyance. “Ruthless Kings are a motorcycle club. There are good ones and bad ones—”

  “This is a bad one. I’m going to go ahead and assume that.”

  “You’d be right,” she says. “There used to be other girls here, but after they got their use out of them, depending on how they look, they sell them, or they kill them. I was the only one left for a while, until you.”

  “What do they do to you?” I whisper, picking my broken nail off. The anxiety of being in an unknown place, in the dark, talking to a voice in the shadows—which could be a ghost for all I know because I hit my head or something, and I’m losing it. Yep, completely losing it.

  “What haven’t they done? When they want me, they unchain me and use me up. I dance for them, and if I don’t, there are consequences.”

  “Use you up? Consequences? Like what? Give me details! I need to know what’s going to happen to me.”

  “They’re going to pass you around, for one. Each and every single one of them are going to rape you. And don’t fight them; they like it when you fight them. They will beat you if you don’t dance. They get you high, and let me tell you, while you might not do drugs now, you’ll be thankful. The drugs make everything numb. It makes what is happening to you easier.”

  “Easier?” I spit in shock. I can’t believe she would say something like that. “Easier? Nothing could make this easier. How could you say that?”

  “Because I’ve been here for months. I’ve lived this. You haven’t. You’ll see the reality. I’m sorry this is happening to you. Believe me—you’ll wish for death. I do.”

  My heart grows cold, and the air freezes in my lungs like ice. I don’t want to die. I don’t want any of this. I have no idea what to do right now. How do I get free?

  I don’t reply to Abigale. What’s there to say? My future has been delivered to me, and it’s obviously meant for me to live in fear and misery.

  “What did you do before this?” Abigale asks after too much silence. I finally hear her chains move, and the noise makes me relax. She’s real. It isn’t in my head. It’s hard to decipher since it’s so dark in here.

  “I was a college student. I didn’t have a major yet. I’m only twenty. I liked science, though. I thought of majoring in biology or something. Guess that’s not happening anymore,” I say more to myself. “What about you?”

  “I was a nurse. I loved my job. I’m twenty-five. I’m sorry this happened to you so young,” she says, and that makes me laugh to the point that I’m crying.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. I guess I don’t know what else to do. I’m young? You’re young too, Abigale. You’re just starting the life you worked so hard to build.”

  “I know,” she says. “And I understand. Sometimes laughter is better than the tears. Your new reality sucks. This fucking sucks, and it’s scary. I want you to know, it’s okay to be scared, but I’m telling you right now, don’t let them see your fear. Pretend as though you like what they’re doing to you, and it stops a hell of a lot sooner because they like their girls to fight them. Okay? I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be around. Girls don’t usually make it this long. I’m sorry for the harshness of it all. There’s no way to pretty it up, and I’m not going to give you hope because that’s cruel. There’s no hope here. There is no pretty.”

  I like that she’s telling me the truth. It prepares me, somehow, even if I think no one can prepare me at all for what’s about to happen.”

  “There’s this one guy. I don’t know his name. He’s nicer than the others. He brings food and water and hangs out for a bit to talk, brings a light too. He doesn’t have sex with the girls. He makes sure he isn’t around when they rape us. I asked him why he can’t help or do more to protect us, but he’s a victim too. His “brothers” use his sister as leverage against him if he doesn’t comply with their every wish.”

  “God, that’s terrible.” But that’s hope. If we can get him to release us—

  “I know what you’re thinking. No. I’ve tried. He caught on, and he said he hates what he knows, but his sister comes first. It’s his own family.”

  “That’s a tough spot to be in.” To do nothing. That doesn’t make him a good guy. “Surely, he could do something, and the fact that he chooses not to is wrong, and his sister would be disappointed.

  “He’s tried to free girls before, and guess what? They killed his mom right in front of him, after they beat her. So yeah, he won’t go against them again. His sister is the only family he has left.”

  “Jesus,” this gets darker and darker by the second. Who does such a thing? “Why can’t he leave the club?”

  “The only way out of the club is death, so he says, and he refuses to die because then no one can protect his sister.”

  “There has to be something he can do,” I say on a whine. “Anything.” I have never sounded so small in my entire life, but what else do I do? Being brave or courageous doesn’t seem to matter right now. Nothing I do will guarantee my survival. I’m leashed. They are in control me.

  “Maybe. Whatever it is, he hasn’t figured out a way yet. He’s just
a foot soldier. He isn’t a ranking member.”

  “You sure do know a lot about the man for not knowing his name.”

  “Well, when you’re here alone, you tend to beg for anything, so I begged for his company,” she snorts. “Can you believe that? I begged for the company of a man who belongs to a club like this.”

  “Sounds like he doesn’t like it either.”

  “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Our fate is sealed.” She coughs an awful wet cough, one that requires the care of a doctor.

  “You sound really sick, Abigale. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just an upper respiratory thing.”

  Yeah, I don’t believe her. The cough is deep, in her lungs and chest. She needs medicine. I only know because I had pneumonia last year, and it sounded just like that. “Maybe that man who comes down can help? He can bring you medicine if we tell him.”

  “I don’t want to get him in trouble,” she says.

  “I will,” I nearly growl. Who cares? My life is ruined anyway. I might as well piss a few bikers off along the way. What are they going to do that I don’t already expect?

  A loud thud bangs, and I gasp, tilting my head up to see where the noise is coming from.

  “Don’t say a word,” Abigale whispers. “They’re back.”

  I scurry against the wall again, pressing my back so far into it that I feel the rock cutting my skin, but I don’t care. I want the wall to swallow me up and hide me away. The first thud of footsteps above hit the floor, and sand and dust fall, getting into my eyes. I blink it away and rub my face. My eyes water from the intrusion.

  One pair of boots turn into another, then another, and then it sounds like a stampede. They’re laughing, a loud roar that can be heard for miles, but under it, there’s screaming, crying.

  They have another girl.

  “Oh, no,” Abigale says at the same time. She must hear it too.

  “Shut up,” one of the deep biker’s voice yells, and then a loud slap makes me cover my mouth to keep me from screaming. “Shut the fuck up, you slut,” he says.